Post Love
by acoolgirl
Summary: Madge and Gale's lives are changed forever when they're both matched to each other in a soldier outreach program organized by the University of Pennsylvania.
1. Opening

Gale knows it's wretched to think so, but he wishes it was his leg, not dough boy's that got blown off.

Truthfully, in the end, it doesn't even matter that Mellark gets shipped home before him- he had already won Katniss's heart if her lengthy letters to baker boy and two-liners to him were any indications.

Still, he sulks, lazing in his cot as his battalion waits for the orders that'll ship them from the French countryside and into some action where he'll be able to shoot some fascists again.

"You still dilly-dallying?" Thom, his best mate asks, lifting up the tent flap and coming in. He's holding a stack of envelopes in his hand. Gale had forgotten today was mail day, especially since Katniss had stopped writing. He'll just pick up his mail later.

"Shut up," is all Gale says as he closes his eyes again. He isn't in the mood for Thom's tomfoolery.

"Aww, c'mon Gailey," Thom pesters, using that fucking annoying nickname again. "You don't even wanna read this letter a broad wrote for you?"

Gale's eyes fly open. Katniss had written?!

"Gimme that," Gale growls, reaching over to snatch the letters from Thom.

"Hey!" Thom exclaims. "Some of those are mine, give 'em back!"

After finally getting the letters sorted, Gale flips through his envelopes. One from Ma, as expected. He knew from past letters that his little sister Posy will have included a picture in the letter since she couldn't write yet. He kept all her pictures in his uniform pocket, right above his heart.

Then there was one from Vick and Rory. The punks liked to write by alternating lines, so it was as if he was reading a conversation transcript of the two. He'd never admitted it, but it was damn entertaining and made him miss his fool brothers fiercely.

The third letter, however, was addressed to him from an address all the way out in _Philadelphia_?

"Zoooo wee!" Thom whistles, reading over his shoulder. "How come you never told me you got a broad in Philly? Heard the girls up there love sharin' the crop, if you know what I mean."

"One day, you'll mouth off to General Abernathy, and I'll be part of the firing squad when you're court martialed," Gale snaps, shoving Thom away as he tries to lunge for the letter to pry it from Gale.

"Stick in the mud," Thom mutters, going back to his letters. Gale scoffs when Thom immediately brightens as he pulls out a picture his girlfriend Delly had sent him. He isn't sure he's ever met a man more doll dizzy than Thom.

Thoroughly curious, Gale quickly opens the envelope and pulls out pages of a letter, which are littered with censor holes.

Quickly unfolding the shrunk down v-mail, Gale's imagination runs wildly as he wonders who wrote _what_ to him. None of his letters have been censored before.

 _Dear Mr. Hawthorne,_

 _I hope this letter reaches you in good health and high spirits. My university started an outreach program called the Compassion Project, which matches you to soldiers abroad so that you can send them letters to, hopefully, make fighting a war, if just slightly, more bearable._

 _If you're still reading, that must mean you aren't totally turned away from the idea of establishing a correspondence with a stranger, so I suppose I'll talk a little about myself._

 _My name is Margaret Undersee, but everyone calls me Madge. In fact, I'm pretty sure apart from my Daddy, everyone thinks Madge_ is _my name. I was studying Musical Arts at the University of Pennsylvania, but found myself growing more and more dissatisfied with the course my life was going on. Could I truly be at peace with myself, frivolously playing the piano while brave young men laid down their lives elsewhere? So I went and enlisted in the Army Nurse Corps, and will hopefully be sent over soon. Who knows, maybe we could even meet?_

 _What else... I've already told you I play the piano. It's something I hope to continue to do once the War is over. Maybe teach young children how to play. I haven't any siblings, though I wish I did. At the very least, an older brother. Let's see...my Mother died when I was very young, so I haven't much to share about her other than I still miss her very much so. My Daddy owns a factory that now only produces Airplane Propellers, instead of its original Auto Body parts._

Gale has to stop reading for a moment to let the information sink in. Back home, before he had enlisted, he had worked as a mechanic. And now here was, reading a letter written to him by the daughter of a _factory owner._ He wants to crumple up the paper and be indignant that he's wasted his time reading something by a spoiled rich girl, but her first paragraph has already proven to him she isn't some airheaded priss, not if she actually means to come out here and risk her life to nurse soldiers back to health.

 _I realize now that it may seem like I'm boasting Daddy's wealth, but I urge you not to think that way. In fact, since the war has begun, I see now that-_

The rest of her next paragraph is completely censored by a flurry of angry clippings, silencing her observations. Gale is desperately curious to know what she had written. It obviously had quite some merit to it, for it to be completely censored. Unable to look away, he continues to read.

 _But in the end, it doesn't matter, does it? You're there now, and the Axis powers_ must _be stopped, regardless of why we joined in the first place. Global fascism, anti-semitism, and imperialism have no place in this world, not anymore._

 _Oh dear, this was supposed to be a light-hearted letter! Here's something for you to chew on: What's lighter than a feather, but the strongest man in the world cannot hold it for longer than a minute?_

 _If riddles bore you, feel free to ignore what I just wrote._

 _We were instructed to write about day-to-day drama and politics to help you feel more connected to home, but I wasn't told where you're from, so I'm not sure how much the street shenanigans of Philadelphia will entertain you. In regards to politics, things are...in a flurry. We've always been a city renowned for its industries, but the war has expanded our industries tenfold, which has gratefully brought back many jobs to the previously greatly suffering working class. As I watch the city hustle in great fervor to meet quotas and makes sure our men out fighting are properly supplied, it fills me with relief to see the number of street urchins and despondent elderly have greatly reduced. As the popular saying goes, even if you're not abroad, there's still a war to be fought._

Suffering working class. He had been a part of that, hadn't he? Maybe he was still a part of it. He pushes down his anger at her pity, it's not like she knows he's dirt poor. Yet.

 _Well, this went on much longer than I thought it would. I do hope you write back, Mr. Hawthorne, though I'll understand if you choose not to. I wish you all the best, and hope you return to your loved ones with a healthy body and content spirit._

 _Cordially,_

 _Madge Undersee_

 _P.S_

 _Scalp some Nazis!_

Gale laughs out loud as he reads the last line of her letter, he can't help it. He's already formed the image of a docile, dressed up girl with soft hands that play piano in his mind, and the mental image of her urging him to _scalp_ Nazis is beyond hilarious.

"Who's it frooom," Thom whines from his cot, kicking his legs up in the air like a toddler.

"It's some compassion project," Gale tells him. "I was matched with a stranger to be pen pals or something."

"Wow," Thom remarks. "To think, everyone knows how big of a loser you are, they had to set you up with some rando so you could feel like you have friends."

"Keep it up and I won't need a court martial order to shoot you," Gale says, as he gets off his desk to the small desk in the corner, pulling out some loose leaf and a pen that's running low on ink. He considers what he knows: she's a university going student that's young enough to still enlist as a nurse. She didn't mention a husband or kids, but there might be a sweetheart. Actually, _of course_ there has to be a sweetheart, every rich young dame has one. Still, he writes _Miss_ confidently.

 _Miss. Undersee,_

 _Thanks for writing. I have friends and family that write, but it's always interesting to hear about things from other people_

This is a lie. He really only has two friends, and one of them is behind him, looking at a dirty magazine, and the other is probably getting married to a baker, and has completely forgotten about him. But she doesn't need to know that.

 _So you want to be a nurse? The nurses here are ok, but are really stingy. You seemed nice enough from your letter- try to keep up that attitude when you're tending to wounded soldiers, it really does help._

 _Is your sweetheart here in Europe? I imagine he'd be very happy to see you again. Or not. I wouldn't want my girl out here where you can die at any moment. It's awfully brave of you to throw away your easy life to go halfway across the globe to an inescapable warzone. Maybe we will meet, though I hope we don't, since I want to go home ASAP._

He tries to imagine a spoiled little girl in the trenches beside him. It's so laughable, he can't.

 _I'm from a town in West Virginia so small it doesn't even show up on the map, but it's interesting to hear about Philly's politics. Every since my Pa died down in the mines, I've wanted nothing more to get out of that Godforsaken place. My dream is to go home to my Ma and three younger siblings and whisk them off to somewhere like Philly with the money I've made from the army._

 _Would you recommend Philly as a good place to raise a family? I want my sibling's plenty of space to run and grow, but I'm not sure if a city is the best place for that._

 _I have to say, Miss. Undersee, I haven't scalped any Nazis. Yet. I've shot plenty, though, if that's any consolation. But the satisfaction of killing those bastards wanes after a while, war just has that effect on a man. There's only so much death and gore you can see before it's too much. And I've seen plenty._

He has to close his eyes for a moment to fight off the onslaught of loud memories of his fellow soldiers dying violently beside him. He shakes his head. This is a war. This is a war.

 _I have to say, an entire paragraph of your letter was blotted out. I won't say which, but I'm sure you know which one I'm referring to. For your own safety, you should consider your words more carefully, even though I'm awfully curious to know what you were talking about._

Gale re-reads what he's written, and hopes she gets his message: continue writing what she wrote, but be more covert about it.

 _If your Daddy decides to let you write back to a lowly mechanic, I'd be mighty interested in more of the politics of what's going on back home. Ma doesn't pay any attention to all that, and the kids are too young._

The line is bitter, but he can't help it. He can't just push aside the fact that he's out here fighting for his life so he can go back and give his family a better chance at life, while she was born with a golden spoon in her mouth.

 _-Gale Hawthorne_

 _P.S_

 _Is it a breath?_

He puts his letter aside to open his Ma's. He'll mail it out, but he's almost certain he won't hear a response from Miss. Madge Undersee.

A/N:

Being brought over from the archive since I finally retrieved my login. Bi-weekly update until everything is brought over, since this story is done.


	2. Black and White

Gale can't help it, he's been dying to know what Madge had written that had been censored out, so when they do a mail call during the middle of dinner, Gale shoves his half-eaten tray towards Thom and quickly takes his letters back to his tent.

 _Dear Mr. Hawthorne,_

 _Thank_ you _for writing back. I have to admit, I was almost childishly excited when I saw a letter mailed to me from_

Her next words are cut out. Gale can't help but roll his eyes. Amateur.

 _I'll keep your advice in mind, and be as nice as I can to any soldier I treat. Though I do have to say, we're told over and over again to not get too friendly with the men, lest they get the wrong idea, and more or less told to act as if we haven't any emotions. I'll try to find a healthy balance._

 _I haven't a sweetheart at the moment, but even if I was romantically involved with someone, it wouldn't be with someone who'd want to stop me from pursuing my dreams._

Gale frowns both at the fact that she doesn't have a sweetheart, and that she was most probably taking a jab at him. She must be hideous or something. And stupid, to think Gale wouldn't want his girl with him because he didn't "support" her dream.

If that's the case, _I hope we_ don't _see each other, and that you're sent home very soon. Three siblings! That sounds wonderful. It's clear you love them very much, they're very lucky to have an older brother like you. And your Mother, this must be very hard on her, to send her eldest son off to battle. I was very sorry to read about your Father's untimely death. To lose a parent as a child, is in some way, like losing a limb; you grow up, but not completely._

Gale swallows tightly as he reread her last line once more. That's exactly what it was like. Losing his Pa was like losing his left hand, and every time he's forced to use his right, he remembers him.

 _I hope you don't find me too forward, but how old are you? It sounded as if you were rather young when your Father passed, and I'm trying to imagine how young you were when you suddenly had to become the head of the household. The fact that you're in Europe somewhere, at great risk to yourself, proves you take your responsibility very seriously. I know we've never met, but I can't help but wish you didn't have such a burden on your shoulders._

 _To answer your question: Philadelphia is a nice place to raise a family if you want a family raised in the city. Now, I know that sounds rather cryptic, but I do have a point. I'm not sure how many cities you've been to, but as I said, Philadelphia is loud, a bit dirty, and always bustling. Children_ do _play on the street, but they're more often than not dirty and have to dodge automobiles while they run after their balls. The public schooling leaves something to be desired after to as well, though I suppose that could be a nationwide issue in regards to funding. I live in the suburbs of Philadelphia, which can be as close as 30 minutes away from the city. It's nice, but there's a kind of mundanity and..._ blandness _to the suburbs, that it drives a person near crazy. At least it does to me. My personal opinion is the best place to raise a family is somewhere in an open country, where they can get fresh air, and all the townsfolk know one another. Then again, that may just be exactly what you want to escape from, in which case, I'd say, yes, move to Philadelphia. It is, after all, the city of "Brotherly Love", and you see that clearly in how its citizens treat one another. We were founded by the Quakers, after all, who were rather nice folks._

Gale _had_ said that he wanted to escape from Panem, but truthfully, the vision she painted, of a large farmhouse and a cozy town was what he wanted to. Panem, with its jagged mountain terrain, and hardened citizens didn't hold the same nostalgia his dream Town held.

 _My, I hope my long-winded rant didn't bore you to tears. While we're on the subject of tears, I do have to say, Mr. Hawthorne, I was rather hurt at your implication that either my Daddy or I would think any differently of you due to your occupation, but then I remembered a critical part of my letter was cut out. No point in going backward, is there?_

 _Do you remember learning about the Civil War in school?_

Gale frowns. That's a rather ironic placement, saying there's no point going backward, and then immediately talking about a war that ended 80 years ago. Unless….she had gotten his message, and was talking in code.

 _Up here in "Yankee Territory" we're taught one thing: The North fought in the war to liberate the slaves in the South. Personal research has taught me differently. Funny, isn't it, how we think one thing as children, only to realize it's something totally different as adults?_

Gale reads quicker, trying to figure out what she's trying to say, and how it connects to the present.

 _The North as a whole didn't really have any qualms about the morality of slavery, no, the reason why they wanted its abolition was their greed for more industrialization, whereas the South wished to remain agrarian. Thus the war._

 _Money. Money Money Money. To what limit will man go to for money? One second they're an enemy, and the next, an ally- all if money is involved._

Gale instantly knows what she's talking about in that particular sentence. The beginning of the war, the U.S had distinctly labeled the Soviets as the enemy, and now here they were, practically doing the U.S's job of defeating the Nazis, if Stalingrad was any indication. What was Madge saying, that the U.S was only in the war for economic reasons?

Everyone knew that the war had brought the country out of the Great Depression, but that wasn't a bad thing, right? Gale reconsiders his thought. Making money off the death of innocent civilians in another country. Maybe things weren't as black and white as he thought, but the fact remained, the U.S only entered the war _after_ the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor. _That_ wasn't for money. Still, he reads on, desperate to read more on what she's thought.

 _So, as you can see, I hold a rather large disdain towards money. At least, large quantities of it. It only brings out the evil that lurks within man. I'm blessed that Daddy has a wonderful heart; he not only treats his workers with the utmost respect and integrity, but his wages are some of the highest in the city. Other businessmen scoff at his philanthropy, saying he'll go out of business before Paris is liberated. If he does, I'll go into poverty with dignity, knowing Daddy went down doing the right thing._

Gale can't even find himself to be upset that she stopped writing about the war. Her words are so heartfelt, he can't help but wish she was here, so he could listen as she spoke these kind words. Maybe he misjudged her. Sure, her Daddy had some money, but if she was writing the truth, she wasn't a spoiled brat.

 _I'll tell you more about Philly's politics in my next letter, since this one is long enough as it is. By the way, you guessed my riddle right! I'll have to find a harder one next time. I do have an idea for another game. Could you give me three hints about your hometown, maybe like size, proximity to a local landmark, etc., and I can try to guess it? Daddy has a map with every rail-line in the country, and I'm confident I can find your town on it if I try hard enough._

 _Waiting for a hasty reply,_

 _Madge Undersee_

 _P.S_

 _If you can't scalp, I suppose shooting works too. Keep up the good work, soldier._

Dinner isn't over yet, so he heads over to where the jeeps are parked, hoping their camp mechanic is in his usual spot.

Beetee Latier was a genius, every Goddamn man in the camp knew that, but here he was, stuck doing oil changes on army jeeps, instead of creating new airplane schematics, because his skin was as dark as the oil he drained.

Gale is still angry at the racism that plagues the States, when he finds Beetee, sitting in one one of the jeeps, eating his dinner. That was another thing about Beetee, as smart as he was, he was also a bit...eccentric, preferring usually to be totally alone. Gale wasn't sure if he was afraid of any bigotry he may encounter or because he just genuinely liked being alone, so he was a bit nervous when he cleared his throat.

Immediately, Beetee looks up from his meal, eyes alert as he takes Gale in.

"Yes?" he asks, raising a brow over his thick glasses.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a question," Gale says, a bit awkwardly. "But I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner. I'll just go."

"No!" Beetee shouts, startling Gale. "Stay."

"Uh, ok," Gale says with a slightly confused smile. "Mind if I hop in?"

"Be my guest," Beetee says, gesturing to the passenger seat beside him.

"What is it you'd like to know?" he asks, once Gale is settled in.

"Why did the U.S enter the war," Gale says bluntly, looking at Beetee directly. Beetee, on his part, does not look surprised at the nature of the question, and only nods.

"The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor," Beetee answers easily, watching Gale closely.

"I know that," Gale says frustratedly. "But is there a, I don't know, economic motivation?"

"Do you know what the proper name of the Nazi party is?" Beetee asks suddenly, resuming eating his dinner.

"No," Gale says gruffly. He hates not knowing answers to questions he's asked.

"The National Socialist Workers Party," Beetee tells him, around a mouthful of food.

"So?" Gale asks, still peeved he hadn't known.

"We're told, over and over again, that we're fighting Nazis to save the Jewish people, and every other persons the Nazis are after," Beete begins, looking out his window. "And the truth is, most men here _are_ fighting for that very reason. And it's a very noble reason indeed, no doubt. But did you know, that when the Nazis first came into power, the U.S, and every other country for that matter, hardly paid any attention to the atrocities they were committing within their country? It was only when the Nazis began their invasions did the rest of Europe pick up arms. In fact, before that, the U.S maintained business ties with Germany."

"We didn't intervene earlier because we were in a Depression!" Gale argues, remembering with a shudder how his family had barely survived the dirty 30's, especially with Pa's death in '39.

"But don't we know now that a war would have just jump started our economy?" Beetee asks rhetorically. "America is fighting a lot of things in this war, but have no doubt, that an economic system is one of them."

"But we're allied up with the commies," Gale points out, as he tries to follow along. "And they're everything we hate!"

"And mark my words," Beetee says quietly. "As soon as the Nazis are defeated, the USSR and U.S.A will turn against each other. All in the name of economic theory. We aren't villains in this war, but we certainly aren't angels either."

Gale's head is spinning. He had always known the U.S had its fair share of problems, racism and wealth inequality two huge ones he could name off the bat, but he had always thought of them to be….ideologically pure within the context of this war.

Suddenly, he's enraged. Is Madge fucking with him? Trying to get him confused, so he defects? Maybe she's a commie spy, sent in to infiltrate and create dissent within the ranks!

"It's hard," Beetee sighs. "When you learn that the world isn't black and white."

"When did you learn this?" Gale asks, curious to know where the man beside him got his wisdom.

Beetee laughs, deep and from within his belly. "I learned when I was born, there's only white and white. You gotta throw in your black to get some gray, and that's where you find color."

* * *

 _Undersee,_

 _Is this a game? Why tell me all this bullshit? Don't you know I'm out here fighting for this Country?_

 _Don't write again if all you want to do is demoralize me. I have enough to deal with, your twisted words aside._

 _A/N:_

Hooray for historical politics! Also, in case it isn't clear, but Madge and I are pro-US actions (most of them) in WWll, Madge is just pointing this all for a very specific reason, which we'll see next chapter.


	3. A Short Life

After a full day of walking, they're finally allowed some rest.

The entire battalion is miserable; their location had been compromised by enemy planes the night before, and they were forced to undergo an emergency evacuation. Gale can still hear their loud engines swooping in from above.

It doesn't help that with every minute, the temperature seems to drop another degree, and the icy drizzle that's been falling since morning won't relent. He isn't sure he's ever felt more tired or cold in his entire life. His body is practically begging to just give up.

General says the clouds are a good thing, they provide cover, but when Gale and a group of guys huddle around a fire in a ditch made by a bomb, he can't help but curse them. He's miserable, in every sense of the word.

"Fuck!" Cato curses, as his shaking fingers are unable to open a can of ration beans. "Fuck France and it's fucking weather!"

"Amen," Marvel says bitterly, scooting closer to the fire, that's having a hard time staying alive with the rain that manages to come past the tarp they've set above them.

"At least we're still alive," Thom points, only to be silenced when the other two men glare at him. Gale just closes his eyes and wills some heat back into his exhausted muscles. His head is already aching with the promise of a cold, and with soldiers around every corner, waiting to kill him, he needs his body to be at its prime. Anything less will mean death.

"Damn Nazis," Cato seethes as he throws the can away from him in defeat. "Why'd they even come to power, anyway?"

"Money," Marvel answers.

Wait.

Gale's eyes fly open. Marvel's Dad is a lawyer back home, and when he's not being a total asshole, knows what he's talking about. "World War One shat all over their economy. People were desperate, and the Nazis took advantage of that. Jews are an easy target, you know?"

"It only brings out the evil that lurks within man," Gale repeats, almost in awe. At everyone's confused looks, he quickly adds. "Money, I mean."

"Isn't that why you're here, coal miner redneck?" Cato asks cruelly. "So your 12 siblings have enough money to eat something other than dirt?"

Had Gale's body not been moments away from giving up completely, and there wasn't a fire between them, Gale would have leapt across the distance and beaten Cato to death.

"Watch your back," Gale mutters darkly. "Out here there's no way to prove who shot who."

"Ok!" Thom cuts in loudly, trying to de-escalate the situation. This isn't the first time Cato and Gale have butt heads, but it could always be the last. "Cato, hand me the can, I think I can pry it with my knife."

As the conversation moves on, Gale lets his mind go back to what was being said earlier. Money. In the back of his mind, he had known that the Nazis come into power because post-war Germany's economy was abysmal, but for some Godforsaken reason, his thick head hadn't been able to connect that to what Madge was writing.

Madge. His already aching body feels even worse as guilt consumes him. She had never written back after he had sent his hateful letter, and he couldn't blame her, not when he realizes that she had been warning him against the very thing Cato had pointed out.

He was only here for the money. He had said he wanted to go home as soon as possible, but Gale had been given the choice to go back a few months ago, but he had turned it down, all while envisioning the hefty check Ma was getting each month on his name. He had subconsciously accepted that he would be here till the war ended, or he died, whichever came first, all to maximize the benefits his family could reap from the bullets he had sown.

She had been warning him of his greed- not any other countries, but his own! And he had been totally blind to it, and now she probably hates him and wishes he was dead.

The agonizing night only grows more miserable after that.

* * *

"Thom!" Gale shouts in panic. "Over here!"

They had come across a small town, which upon closer inspection had been totally deserted. Elated at their stroke of good luck, the battalion had made quick work to set up camp there.

In war, it's never that easy.

The Nazis must have set it up as a trap, knowing they were coming, because as soon as night fell- they attacked.

"Hurry up!" Gale shouts once Thom reaches the door of the house he's standing in. As soon as he's in, Gale grabs a nearby chair to barricade the door.

"We need to move upstairs, get to higher ground!" Thom says, breathless from running.

Gale nods. "Go!"

Gale tries not to think of how many men had died just 20 minutes ago. Even Cato, who he had threatened to kill himself just a few days ago, the memory of his lifeless face makes Gale's legs shake.

Thom flings open a bedroom window, but before they can rush to the nearest window, both are thrown backward from the shock of a mortar shell exploding.

The shell had been aimed at the house next to the one they were in. It was dumb luck they were still alive.

Shoving off debris that had fallen on him from the roof that now gaped a huge hole, Gale crawls to the shattered window, ignoring how the fallen glass cuts into his skin, and glances outside. There are several Nazis running down the street, one of them with a Mortar. Gale silently raises his MP40 and aims as carefully as he can. He has to readjust several times since the man is running, but finally, his finger comes down on the trigger.

The shot rings loudly, since most of the fighting is concentrated on the west side of town, and immediately, the now dead Nazi's companions whirl around in anger, immediately finding Gale.

Thom was ready though because he immediately opens fire. He manages to take down two of them, and Gale another one, while one of them slips past their fire, Mortar held securely against his chest.

Another shell goes off, this time in a street right behind them, which momentarily throws Thom and Gale off, giving the soldier on the street more than enough time to take a direct shot at them.

For a moment, all Gale can think is how beautiful fire is as it surrounds him.

Then the pain sets in. He swats at the burning timber on him frantically, before rolling around to snuff out any other flame on him. He had luckily been able to avoid severe burns, but the air is so thick with smoke, Gale can hardly breathe.

Coughing, Gale waves a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke some, as he tries to find Thom.

"Gale…" a meek voice calls out, and Gale's heart stops, when he looks over to see Thom, staring right at him, with a huge wooden beam that had fallen from the roof practically crushing his entire body.

"Thom!" Gale cries, stumbling towards his best friend. "Are you alright?"

"Hurts," Thom whispers, face glistening in sweat and blood. "Hurts real bad."

"I got you buddy," Gale reasurres quickly, as he tries to heave the beam off Thom's broken body. The fucking thing hardly budges. He tries again, when the sound of the door banging downstairs makes him pause. Seems like the bastard had run out of shells.

"Don't worry," Gale says with a tight smile. "I'll get this off you no problem."

He tries again, using every bit of strength he has, but the beam only lifts a few inches, and when it comes back down, the sound Thom makes nearly brings Gale to tears.

"I love you," Thom cries quietly. "I know I never said it before, but you're like the brother I never had-"

"Shut up!" Gale roars ferociously. "You are not going to die, got it?"

"You're my best friend," Thom continues, ignoring Gale as his tears come quicker. "I'm sorry that I have to leave you here alone."

The sound of wood splintering is heard as the downstairs door, finally gives away, followed by the sound of feet running up the stairs. Reluctantly, Gale picks up his gun and leaves Thom.

The Nazi takes a shot at him before Gale is barely out of the door, but in his haste, miscalculates his aim, and the bullet flies right past his ears.

As if his mind doesn't even register the ringing pain in his ear., Gale fires three rounds into the Nazis chest. The German falls forward, landing just a few feet from Gale's feet.

With his boot, Gale nudges the soldier so he's lying on his back to make sure he's dead. To his shock, a young boy, probably no older than 16, stares back at him.

He's pale and shaking and blood is leaking out of his mouth. He raises his tear-filled eyes to Gale's.

"Danke," the boy thanks him in a broken voice, before choking on a mouthful of blood.

Gale can still hear him choking and gasping for breath when he returns to Thom. He hates the War. He hates Guns. He hates Blood. He hates Fighting. He hates that he's seen more people die than be born. He hates that he may just die here too, and never see his loved ones again.

The rage he feels, at the world that surrounds them, fills him with a surge of adrenaline that lets him finally lift the beam off Thom.

"Ok buddy," Gale says in a voice that he had only ever used with Posy. "I'm gonna go get a medic, and they're gonna fix you up, ok?"

"Please don't leave me alone," Thom begs, reaching up with a burned hand to grab his forearm.

"I'll be back," Gale promises, resting his own hand on Thom's forearm. "And then, when you go home, I'm gonna tell your sister Bristel all about your dirty magazines, and she's gonna whoop your ass."

"A-at least tell a busty broad," Thom smiles weakly through his pain. "So I can enjoy the whoopin'."

"She'll be the bustiest," Gale promises. "Those things'll be like watermelons. You just need to keep fighting for me, ok?"

"Ok," Thom answers him, his eyes slowly closing shut.

* * *

"Hey, can you put a can at the end of my bed? I wanna see if I can aim well enough to piss into it."

Gale just glares at Thom, who grins back from his spot on the hospital bed.

In a night that could only be described as hell, their battalion had been able to take back the small town and were even able to take some of the Germans in as POWs. They were still too small and weak to keep moving, so they set up base in the Town.

Thom had sustained nerve damage in his spine that had rendered him paralyzed from the waist down. Apparently, immediately after the Doctor told him the news, Thom had demanded total privacy to see if his dick still worked.

"If Richard works, it's all good," Thom had told him with a wicked grin, the first time Gale had visited him in the Town Hall-turned hospital. Gale was just glad he took to the news so well. He had great hope that one day his friend would be able to walk again, and if he didn't, Gale would be there to make sure he never even noticed his legs didn't work anymore.

"When you have to have your ass wiped by a nurse who looks like she could snap you like a twig, then you'll know my pain," Thom mutters, reaching under his pillow to pull out a magazine. "The old hag even stole all my good magazines!"

"You mean the pornos?" Gale rolls his eyes as he swipes his magazine only to thwap him with it. "When are you going home, by the way?"

"Eager to get rid of me, huh?" Thom teases, before his face becomes serious. "Sometime next week, I think."

Gale nods. "That's good. I'm sure Delly will be thrilled."

A dopey grin stretches across Thom's face. "Yeah," he sighs happily. "The moment I see her, I'm gonna propose."

Gale's eyebrows shoot up at this, he knew that Thom was crazy about Delly, but he also knew Thom was crazy about girls in general, so to hear him excited for a lifetime commitment to one dame is kinda shocking.

"Are you sure?" Gale asks, trying not to sound too incredulous. "I mean, if you're married, that'll mean no more porno magazines."

"Honestly? I don't even like looking at those anymore," Thom admits with a shrug of his shoulders. "That night, when the beam was on me, I really thought I was gonna die. It made me realize what was really important to me. Life's too short to have regrets over things you can control, and I'd be an idiot to string Delly along. She's it-the one, you know?"

Gale doesn't know. The one girl he had been in love with since 17 was probably married to a guy he couldn't stand. But for Thom's sake, he just smiles. "I'm happy for you, man. Really."

"You better come home quick," Thom says seriously. "You're my best man, and the wedding can't take place if you aren't there."

"Thanks, Thom," Gale has to clear his suddenly thick voice. "I guess someone has to be there to make sure you don't make an idiot out of yourself."

"Excuse me," the doctor, a frazzled looking man pulls back the curtain around Thom's bed and pokes his head in. "I need to conduct the check up. I'll have to ask you to leave."

"See you later," Gale reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, and Thom winks back. Gale can make out Thom asking the Doctor the same can question. He rolls his eyes. Near death can't sharpen that idiot.

He walks over to the yellow building he's staying in, and takes the stairs two at a time. A flurry's begun to fall, adding a dash of white to the soot-covered ground. The starkness of the two colors reminds him of his conversation with Beetee months ago, about black and white things. Life can only exist in the gray, but Gale had been a major asshole, and had shoved Madge into that unforgiving dichotomy of morality, unable to realize the greater meaning to her words, and the kindness behind them.

Thom had been right, life was too short to have regrets, especially the life of a soldier, and he felt plenty of regret over how he had treated Madge. He needed to right things with her, or at least try to.

 _Miss. Undersee,_

 _Thank you for opening my letter, and giving me a chance to explain myself. God knows I don't really deserve it._

 _I was an idiot. I hadn't realized what you were trying to say to me, and had assumed the worst. I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you. I see now that you're intelligent, more so than anyone else I've ever met, and I hope whatever your dream is, it comes true._

 _We were ambushed, and my buddy and I nearly died. I keep thinking what would have happened if the wooden beam had fallen on me instead of him. Would I still be here? I guess I'll never know now. Not that I particularly want to. The point I'm trying to make is, out here, there's a constant chance I might die, and I just wanted to apologize to you while I still had the chance._

 _My hometown is on the banks of the Guyandotte River, our total population is a little under 10,000, and a great Union hero was born there (you should know, little Miss. Yankee). To answer your question, I'm 21. I enrolled in the Army when I was 19, almost 20, and have been here since then._

 _I hope to return to my hometown soon. That's all I want now, to be with my family, nothing more. Thank you for making me realize that. Greed consumes you in the most unexpected ways._

 _Sorry again,_

 _Gale Hawthorne_

 _P.S_

 _I hope you write back. As short as it was, I miss our letter exchanges._

 _A/N:_

Sorry for the huge delay in updating...things got wack.


End file.
